Remembering Who We Were
by izzysheppard
Summary: Formerly Thicker Than Most, but better now. Carson had finished his last final of the year when Anna went into labor. And he stayed by his sister's side, and came out thirteen hours later. Lilly Alexis Beckett was born on April 19, 1990 at 2:13 in the morning. At 2:13, Carson became an uncle. At about 10:00AM, he became a godfather.
1. Chapter 1

Even from a very young age, Lilly knew she would probably never meet her father. It wouldn't be until she was about twelve would she know why. Her father had met her mother at a party, and wanted nothing to do with either one of them. After all, he was in college, and they were much too young to have a child.

Despite knowing she'd never had a father in her life, it had never really mattered to her. After all, she had her uncle Carson. Carson, who was halfway through medical school when his sister, Anna, dropped out of college without warning and without any reason why. It only took him one conversation to realize that she was pregnant. It took him three weeks to convince his sister not to have an abortion, and five weeks to figure out who the father was. And it was a day to live in infamy, the day Carson punched the guy in the face for calling his sister a particularly distasteful name. It was a day that would forever be brought up on holidays, when his youngest and more rambunctious sister, Peyton,was not the one to start trouble. (For once)

Carson had finished his last final of the year when Anna went into labor. And he stayed by his sister's side, and came out thirteen hours later with a broken knuckle and beautiful niece. Lilly Alexis Beckett was born on April 19, 1990 at 2:13 in the morning. At 2:13, Carson became an uncle. At about 10:00AM, after taking a nap and having his hand casted, he became a godfather.

October 17, 2005

In some ways, it doesn't really feel like Mom's gone. I just can't believe that in the past two hours, I lost my mother, my home, and my life as I knew it for good. Carson told me it'd be good for me if I tried this diary writing thing again. I used to all the time, when I was seven or eight and had just learned how to write. I would go to his apartment in Boston every Friday and write in my diary how my week had been. I'm sure Carson has probably read them, even though he swore back then that he wouldn't. I wish I could say I was closer with Carson. He was my best friend, my uncle, and my godfather all in one, and I was sure that I had a kindred spirit in him. But how close can you be to someone who hasn't been around for two years? I'm fifteen years old, and he has missed the years when I think our relationship could have been its closest - as I've grown up from being a little kid with pigtails and was terrified of jellyfish, spiders, and that really scary movie I don't even remember the name of anymore to teenager. Almost an adult, now. I wear my hair down a lot, and I'm only slightly uncomfortable around jellyfish. Spiders are ok, now that mom and I's apartment is -was - no longer completely infested with them.

See what happened there? I almost forgot again. I almost forgot that mom is dead, and that I'm in her old room in Scotland with the rest of the family. Carson and Peyton arrived within a few hours of each other. The rest got here before I did.

I don't know where Carson's been for two years, what he's been doing, or why he even bothered to come back. It's not like he's been here when Mom needed him for the past few years. But apparently in mom's will, she left everything to me and me to Carson. And he's got, as he says, "clearance" for me to go home with him after this nightmare people call funerals is over. Whatever that means, I guess that I'm stuck with him. He better have a damn good explanation as to where he's been and why he never came back for me. And his doctor skills better kick in, because I was in that car crash, too. I don't think everyone remembers that. To them, this broken wrist and the seven stitches in my forehead just appeared on their own, I guess.

Except for Carson, obviously. He knows. The first thing he did when he arrived was come sit next to me, and check over my stitches. And sign my cast, as no one else has done. Everyone else is too busy being in pain over the loss of their sister, daughter, and friend to remember that I lost a mother, too. But I can't blame them. Pain is pain and it's always going to suck that she's no longer here./span/p

And goddammit, for not taking Carson seriously about journaling again, it turns out I do feel minisculely better. Hm. Maybe I'll stick with it when we go to Antartica or wherever on god's green earth Carson is taking me.

 **Hey there! This is the re-posting of a very heavily revised Thicker Than Most, and this chapter is dedicated to simplemusings12, who has patiently waited since August 2014 for me to actually post this. You are much more of a dedicated fan than I am, mon amie. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

October 20, 2005  
The funeral was yesterday. It was nice, I guess. Nice as you can get for an event held for someone who died. Let me tell you now, none of this has really felt real until I saw the coffin. I think that of Carson hadn't been right behind me, U would have fainted. Or run away. I'm not sure. But I stopped in my tracks, anyway.

Seeing that coffin felt like I'd been punched in the throat. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe, how to think, and how to see straight. I realized I hadn't cried since that day, and that felt terribly wrong, that I couldn't even cry over my mother's death. I was just...empty, until that moment. But Carson was right behind me, and he saw. As angry as I've been that he left four years ago without a word since, I don't think I would have made through yesterday of he hadn't wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulled me close, and continued walking without a word. Sometimes those moments don't need words.

When the coffin began to lower into the ground, that's when it became too much. I felt nothing and everything all at once and I buried my face in Carson's shoulder and let the dam break. I don't know how long we stayed there, through the sympathetic hands on shoulders and whispers of condolences and reassurances. I'm not sure when exactly I felt tears falling on my shoulder, too. Eventually, I felt Carson pull away and suggest we head home before it got dark outside.

Such a pretty day for such a terrible thing.

We were on the way back to Gran's when I realized that I don't even know where home is anymore. Certainly not Quincy, Massachusetts. I don't even know where Carson lives anymore. Like, is he even in the same country?

"Where have you been?" When he turned and looked at me, I realized and (kind of) regretted the edge in my voice.

"Soon. I'll be able to tell you everything soon."

Soon. It would have been tomorrow, according to Sawyer, but Carson took extra time off, apparently, to give me more time.

Having no control on how your life is changed sucks.

October 27, 2005  
There are days when you realize the scope of how completely changed your life has become, and you realize that nothing will ever be the same. Today is one of those days.

Carson and I left Scotland two days after the funeral. We went back and stayed in the apartment mom and I lived in in Quincy so I could pack my stuff. Everything was just as mom and I left it that morning. My dance bag was almost carelessly tossed on the floor by the glass door that lead to our small balcony-with-no-view-anyway. Mom's desk in the corner was it's usual controlled chaos, and her damn laptop was still on the dining room table where we turned around that day to retrieve it from. My mother was a reporter for The Boston Globe. Started as an assistant five years ago. Carson stood not too far from the desk reading the clipped article that I had framed and hung on the wall - mom's first story to be printed. It was sixth page, below the fold, but I can't remember a time that I was prouder of her.

My room was practically sacred, in the same way that mom's is. (Was?) Anyway, neither of us would enter the other's room without permission. There's a tiny closet that connected our rooms, and we shared that wall. Mom's side used for more dressy clothes, mine used for leotards and dance shoes and other dance wear. My room was like any 16-year-olds' room, I suppose, minus the posters of movie stars and boy bands. My posters were of the Bolshoi's Swan Lake, Mikko Nissien's The Nutcracker, Angel Corella and Gillian Murphy in Swan Lake at ABT, and Petra Conti in Giselle. Sports trophies were replaced with plaques of scholarships to Boston Arts School and to train at The Joffrey School of Ballet last summer, and the gold medal I won at the Youth America Grand Prix finals last year in New York City. The wall just behind my bed laid claim to a large tack board Carson had given me for my 12th birthday, right before he left. It was covered with pictures with friends, family, Scotland, different ballerinas in various ballets, and backstage when I danced Clara in Mikko Nissien's The Nutcracker at the Boston Ballet (twice). There were pictures of mom and I in New York City and Cape Cod and Durgin Park and Fanuel Hall. And a Red Sox game (but mom's now-ex-boyfriend was also in the picture and she hated that I never took it down.)

Carson had sat me down that night and began to tell me what comes next. Saywer and her not-a-boyfriend would be coming here after we leave and closing out the apartment. Everything we left behind would be put into storage until I wanted to do anything with it. There was apparently some debate, but I am going to be living with Carson. He said that when he left, he had gone to work in the medical research department of a scientific expedition in Antarctica. About two and a half years years ago, he transferred to a military research base in the Rocky Mountains, where he was now the Chief Surgeon. And that's where we were going two days later. Colorado.

We arrived alright, and spent a night in Carson's small apartment. And that's when things got weird, and not because of the turtles that it turned out Carson hadn't named. I told them they were named Sherlock and Watson and there was nothing he could do about it.

He told me that he could finally begin to explain where he's really been, and why he hasn't been in contact. We're actually going to another Galaxy. Pegasus Galaxy, as it turns out. Carson explained to me this thing called a Stargate, which allows you to travel between planets and sometimes even galaxies. But travelling between galaxies on the Stargate takes a helluva lot of energy to do, so we're travelling on a spaceship called the Daedalus, which is where I am now.

A spaceship. That's where I am right now. Going to the lost city of Atlantis in another Galaxy.

So basically, everything has completely and fundamentally changed.

 **OH MY GOODNESS GRAICHEN. (Long story, you'd have to be in our marching band to understand.) Anywho, super huge thank you to simplemusings12, who has been a pain in my butt about getting this freakin' thing published. (I sent it to you a couple of hours ago, so IDK where you're gonna see it first...) But I'm also her beta for her story, Welcome to the Milky Way, which is part 3 of a series that is hella rad and y'all should check it out.**

 **If you wanna follow me on anything, follow my tumblr (nerdinallways), but be prepared for the life of a theatre nerd as portrayed on tumblr.**

 **Speaking of that, sorry it's taken me so long to get the second chapter up. I hope that the relatively longer chapter makes up for that. I'm doing driver's ed, and I've been working in an original play that just got a workshop in Boston (:O)**

 **See y'all later. Don't forget to follow/fave/preferably review. Kkthanksbyez**


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